


i'll love her until she learns to

by myladybrienne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Only if you squint - Freeform, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 08:37:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myladybrienne/pseuds/myladybrienne
Summary: post-the long night





	i'll love her until she learns to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss joselyn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=miss+joselyn).



A thousand walking corpses collapsed to the floor and Podrick drew in a breath for what felt like the first time in hours. His chest heaved with the weight of it and he fell back against the wall in half-fearful relief. _What happened?_ The squire was too tired to consider the answer. All he knew was he was alive and, to his right, so were his Lady and Ser Jaime.

He’d taken a heavy blow to the shoulder and it hurt too much for him to worry beyond that.

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne breathed out and forced herself to move.

Podrick paced after her over all the bodies and prayed to the Seven she’d slow down. Ser Jaime went with them, limping heavily on his right and grunting softly with each step. _Lord Tyrion._  
  
There were corpses covering every inch of the ground. The snow had turned to brown sludge with all the blood and mud and death. It had only been a few hours and such destruction had taken hold.

The path to the crypts was piled high with bodies, some still alive amongst the rubble. When they got to the top of the stairs, the heavy stone door stood open and Brienne’s pace quickened at the sight.

“Lady Sansa,” she called hopefully as she hurried down the stairs. “Lady Sansa?”

Podrick saw corpses on the floor and dread filled him. _How did they get in?_  
  
The Lady of Winterfell stood before them, shaken but unharmed it seemed. She blinked her wide blue eyes at Brienne and conjured a sceptical smile. “Is it over?” 

Lannister eyes met across the room and Jaime had to bite his tongue to keep from yelping as Jaime brushed his shoulder on the way past to wrap his brother in a tight embrace. He watched the two and wondered how they were of the same blood as the Lioness.

“Thank the Gods,” Sansa whispered as she hugged Ser Brienne. He watched the two; Sansa, sweet and grateful, and Brienne, terse and unsure. “What happened? Was it Jon?" 

“We aren’t certain, my lady. I’ll find your brothers and your sister and the Dragon Queen and bring them with their answers to you on the morrow, but you must rest first.”  

From the shadows emerged Varys, and Samwell Tarly’s wife and a dozen women and children he struggled to recognise. Everyone looked half dead but for the terror that kept them standing upright. 

Podrick looked to Brienne and saw the tired determination with which she engaged. He wondered if she _ever_ stopped. He’d seen her hurt more than once, and he’d watched her patch herself up and keep going. _There’s no rest for the honour bound,_ he remembered her saying once.

“We all ought to rest,” Sansa declared. “At dawn, we might rise and decide our next move but our new world ought not be a tired one. The walls can wait, the bodies can sit awhile, there is nothing so urgent as all of  _us._ ”

There was a trepidation in her tone. Such bravery was becoming of a noble lady such as herself but in the face of death, she was no less a girl than they’d found her three years ago. Sansa Stark would lead them all into the new world; Podrick had far more faith in her than this pale-faced stranger from Essos.

“Your siblings, my lady,” Brienne said. “I must make sure they too are safe.”

Podrick wondered if she’d ever forgotten for a moment the oath she made. He longed to be a knight but he doubted he had the loyalty inside him to be so worthy as she. _A knight,_ he thought wistfully, and remembered the wine and the firelight and his Lady knelt beneath the sway of _Widow’s Wail._

“And so, you will. Once I know my family are well, I will sleep, and so will you.”

He doubted that very much. His eyes flicked to Ser Jaime and saw the way he grimaced at the words. Brienne would not rest until the world was put to rights and she would collapse with exhaustion before that day came. They both knew it.

For twenty minutes, he traipsed through the dead like thick mud. In the Godswood, they found them; Arya Stark with tired eyes and the Valyrian steel dagger still in her hand, Brandon Stark seemingly untouched, and Jon Snow collapsed against the weirwood tree with his head in his hands.

Sansa had broken down in sobs when they brought her the news of young Theon. Her sister had led her away and told them all to get to bed before the dawn came. 

His shoulder ached and knew that once his pauldron was off, the damage would be plain to see. He wanted to find a dry spot and curl up there but still he followed dutifully after his knight. Ser Jaime kept with them as she started for the courtyard once again.

“Podrick,” Jaime called from ten paces behind. “Find Maester Samwell, let him see to your…is it your shoulder that bothers you? I’m not sure…anyhow, go. Once he’s finished with you, find a bed for yourself. You fought well, you earned a rest.”

“Ser Jaime, thank you but-” he paused and turned to look at Brienne. She stood watching the pair and he noticed for the first time the dent in her chest plate. _She’s hurt too._  
  
Brienne would not let herself be slowed by something so meagre as a bruise or a broken rib. She was far too tough, in both body and soul, to be so easily swayed for her purpose. It filled him with shame that he couldn’t conjure the same will as her. He was but a boy, behind the armour and the sword, and he feared he’d never know really manhood if this war did not end soon.

“Go, Pod,” she commanded him. “You fought bravely.”

The smile that graced his face couldn’t be helped. He was beaming as he bid the pair goodnight and trudged off to find Tarly.

Jaime watched him go and wondered at what point the boy he’d charged as squire to a shieldmaiden had become a man who held a sword better than most. _He’s come a long way._

His attentions returned to Brienne. A bruise was blooming over her left eye and there was blood in her hair though whether it was hers or someone else’s, he couldn’t be certain.

“What are we doing out here?”

“I should start moving bodies. There might be people still alive out there, we can’t just leave them.” Her eyes watched the dark horizon as he walked beside her, she glanced aside to see him limping and swallowed thickly. “You should rest, Ser Jaime.”

“If they were alive, they’d be screaming. All that’s left are the dead, and the Night King’s gone, the dead aren’t moving."

She looked at him with fearful eyes and he knew what she was afraid of. _If she went to bed, she might never find the courage to get up again._ He knew that feeling very well but she certainly didn’t, there was _nothing_ she lacked the courage to face.

Jaime wondered if she’d let him help her. He wanted nothing more than to tend her wounds and to ease her woes and to be whatever it was she needed. He wanted to be _everything_ she needed.

“There’s so much to do,” she said as though it was all hers alone to manage. “Wounds to tend and bellies to fill, and then there’s a castle to rebuild and a war to wage.”

“First things first, _your_ wounds and _your_ belly. Come inside and rest, Ser Brienne,” he commanded.

Brienne blushed. It’s hard to tell amidst the cold brisk air and the red that already paints her face, but he spotted it nonetheless. She’s reluctant to admit that he’s right but she goes all the same; silent and sullen with the weight of the world on her shoulders it seems. 

He led her to the great hall where the injured have been gathered it seems. The pair sat down on a wooden bench at the room’s perimeter and he snatched up two bowls of soul for them.

“Were you injured?” she asked as she sipped at the broth. 

“I took a stab to the thigh, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be blue as Tarth’s waters in the morning but I’m alive. We’re all alive,” he had intended to be kind but the way her gaze drops tells him she’s not most pleased at the fact.

_Not all of us._ Jaime wondered if she really blamed herself. Survivors’ guilt wasn’t unheard of but there was nothing _lucky_ about her being here. She’s fought like hell and so had he.

“You couldn’t have saved them all,” Jaime told her, and the fact seemed to offend her a little.

 Brienne took his empty bowl and stacked them both beside her. Her hand raised to her pauldron and she hissed through her teeth at the many blooming bruises the movement warned her of.

He batted her hand away gently and reached to do it himself. She watched him warily as he fiddled with the ties until they came loose, and the iron fell away from her shoulder into his hand.

Silently, the two shed their armour. Jaime’s trouser leg was wet with blood and he knew he ought to see to the wound, but he was _busy._ It could wait.

“Let me tend your leg,” she offered weakly.

Jaime bit his lip and looked around the room. There was no place for modesty on the battlefield he reasoned and shoved his trousers carefully down to his knees. He grimaced at the sight of it: the blood had started to dry at the edges and gone a dreadful shade of brown that matted the hair on his legs.

It was fairly low on the thigh. He thanked the Gods for that and glanced at her. She was frozen, looking at the wound with watery eyes and it looked like she was almost _saddened_ at the sight of it.

She disappeared for a minute before returning with gauze and clean water. Brienne knelt in front of him and started, gently as she could to clean the wound. Tired as she was, she leaned her back against the bench while she worked, and he hoped that she could let him return the favour once she was done.

“You should have someone to make you a salve for it so it doesn’t scar too terribly,” she offered as she laid gauze over his leg and fastened it tight. “Go and get some rest, now.” 

Jaime shook his head gently and stood, pulling his trousers up over the bandaging. She frowned at him, rising up from the ground, only to find him gently nudging her down to the bench.

 “Your turn,” he said and ran his thumb, feather-light, over her brow where the first bruise was forming.


End file.
